


A Far More Vicious Motivator

by not_my_division



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Asexual Character, Asexual Sherlock, Domestication, Drabble Collection, Groping, Kissing, M/M, One Shot Collection, Partial Nudity, Post Reichenbach
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-03
Updated: 2013-06-05
Packaged: 2017-12-13 20:08:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/828339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/not_my_division/pseuds/not_my_division
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Series of short works (from drabbles to one-shots) depicting life in 221B about the strange ways of love--from the logistics of a new relationship to the subtleties of romantic identities and on.</p><p>Non-chronological (do NOT have to be read in any particular order, though some might make brief mentions of events in others).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

It was almost a little disconcerting, John reflected, to have someone as prickly and seemingly distant as Sherlock Holmes gently cushioned into his side while researching snake bites on his mobile.  All in all, it was rather like having a moody, six-foot tall consulting detective cat.  Though it was four in the afternoon, he wore only a faded pair of gray pajama bottoms, with his long toes sticking out of the wide hems and his usual navy dressing gown pooled on the floor.  John had his arm casually placed on Sherlock’s opposite shoulder while he browsed through the comments on his blog, not quite used to the intimacy nor the amount of exposed skin. 

 

Sherlock caught his eye.  “You can look,” he said, quietly.

 

“Uh,” John muttered, unsure of himself.

 

“John, we’ve established there’s an attraction between us.  You’re a sexual man, and as your partner I’m more than ready to let you satisfy your desires.  I’ve seen you trying to take a look, and it’s obvious you’re distracted because you stopped scrolling down the webpage more than 30 seconds ago but haven’t gone to another website because you only have one arm free.  I have concluded that you are distracted by my nudity but did not want to risk asking me because of my lack of desire for sex.  I’m telling you now, John, that this doesn’t make me uncomfortable.  Look, touch, whatever.  Don’t just sit there and make me impatient.” 

 

He emphasized his last words by shifting his torso, putting his chest on display.  Taking a breath, John allowed himself to look over at Sherlock, starting first with his face (sincere, albeit slightly irritated), his neck (pale, long, inviting), shoulders (broad, leanly muscled), before stopping at his midsection.  Though Sherlock cut a slim figure in his suits, he had a wiry strength to him that was conducive to crime-fighting.  His skin was clear and smooth, save for a light scar above his left hip and a small group of spatter-marks beneath his pectoral muscles. 

 

Sherlock followed his eyes, quietly adding, “Stabbing during one of my first cases and a chemical burn.”

 

John looked at him inquisitively.  “How did you get chemicals on your-”

 

“Was doing an experiment shirtless in the kitchen while I was away,” Sherlock cut in, anxious to detract from any prior mistakes.  “I miscalculated the concentration of acid needed and the resulting mixture boiled more quickly than anticipated.”

 

Nodding (and pointedly ignoring all mentions of the painful “away” years), John reached out and lightly touched the marks.  They weren’t raised off the skin, but felt different—in those patches, Sherlock had no hair.  In fact, his body hair in general was sparse, though he had some patches on his sternum and a slightly darker trail at his bellybutton, disappearing into his pajamas.  Tentatively, John began to move his fingers, gently rubbing up Sherlock’s belly, pausing at his nipples, which were firm from the cool temperature of the room. 

 

“So I realize you are not sexually attracted to me, but do you, erm…feel aroused at all when I…” John trailed off, lightly caressing the pinkish glands.

 

“Everything works, John,” Sherlock said, slowly.  “I still have erogenous zones.  But I’d be just as emotionally content if you were to touch my shoulder.” 

 

As reassuringly as possible, John kissed him, barely moving his lips.  For a moment, they were still, breathing against each other, and then Sherlock kissed him back, lightly framing his face with one hand and opening his mouth to John.  When they pulled away, Sherlock curled into his side again, going back to his mobile with a small smile.  And maybe, John reflected, this really was something he could get used to.  He could tousle Sherlock’s hair and scold him to eat dinner, which was not so different from their lives a week ago.  Only now, he could lace their fingers together and nip at his neck as he brought the takeaway over, playfully scolding and touching in ways he could admit to himself that he wanted.


	2. Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which it's okay to be gray (or demi, really).
> 
> This one's a bit more explicit, but not terribly so. I'd say more of an M than a T. I'll put specific warnings in the endnotes, so go there if you want them.

 

A week later, John stood in the kitchen, cooking eggs when he heard an animalistic groan from Sherlock’s bedroom.  Alarmed, he turned off the stove and crossed the flat, prepared to face down a unreasonably dramatic sulk possibly related to a case from Mycroft.  He was instead surprised to see Sherlock wearing his usual shimmery dress shirt and pressed black pants, standing in front of a full length mirror on the back of his closet door, glaring at his own crotch as if it had personally offended him. 

 

“Excuse me, but is this supposed to be easy for me to understand, or are you just imagining reasons to be angry now?” John asked, not sure what questions applied to this situation.

 

“It…I don’t understand,” Sherlock spat from behind his clenched teeth.  “This does not—It’s never…”  He gesticulated wildly, and John realized with a start that the sulk was brought on by an otherwise innocuous erection.

 

“Well, you did say all your parts worked,” John said, quietly.  “I mean, if you want, I’ll just go back and you can-”

  
“But I don’t understand.  I have never wanted sex with another human being—have never been able to stand the thought—and then I had this dream where we…and I woke up with this.  This.  Does.  Not. _Happen_.” 

 

John walked over to the bed and sat, reaching for Sherlock’s arm.   “You know, maybe this isn’t such a big deal.  Maybe you are asexual and it’s all transport and all of that, but if you remember, I’ve always been straight, and not gay, and here we are,” he waved his arm, “you with an erection and me, um… wanting to take care of it for you.  So if there’s anything I’ve learned from the past couple weeks, it’s that nothing is set in stone.  There’s always a gray area or some kind of exception.  Yeah, either you have a wank or I do it for you, and no matter what, it’s probably not worth worrying about.”  He patted his thigh, feeling the luxurious fabric of Sherlock’s bloody expensive suit under his fingertips. 

 

Sighing, Sherlock laid back, making the bulging in his trousers all the more apparent.  Then, he looked up, confused and annoyed, flapping his hand wildly through the air.  “Just fix it.”

 

“What do you want?”

 

“ _Something_.”  He reached for his waistband, but John stops him.  _Me.  I want to_ , he raises his eyebrows, and Sherlock understands.  They reach for each other in slow motion, and then they are kissing, but in a way Sherlock hasn’t quite ever kissed before.  He’s been kissed like this, but has never _felt_ , never participated in this way.  It’s tiny and really only a little spark of anything at all and yet it's as apparent as a blood spatter on the carpet that the Yard's missed but is really plain as day.  And John’s shirt is on the floor, and they’re touching, and John is squeezing his chest in a slow rhythm, fingers against his nipples and their legs intertwined.  He can feel the blood rushing around his body hotly, his heart beating like a bird’s, fast and eager, and feels exposed in a way he’s never experienced, and though he’s not entirely opposed to it, his mind hates the uncertainty of it all.  And then he feels his newly unbuttoned trousers sliding down his legs, John’s mouth at his thighs, kissing and licking and for once his body responds in ways he knows are typical of human beings.  He grips John’s shoulders and feels hands on his buttocks, gripping and cupping.  And then, he’s being turned onto his side.

 

“I-fuck, I want to finger you.  Is that okay?  Do you want…?”  John’s voice comes out sweaty and aroused, and Sherlock wants to taste it.

 

“Yes,” he says, quietly, rendered mute by the effort of feeling and speaking at the same time. 

 

“I’ll just grab the, you know,” John mutters, and Sherlock stops him, nodding toward his bedside table. 

 

“I needed—data, on self-pleasuring,” he admits vaguely, and John nods, smirking.

 

And then John is behind him again, lightly spreading him open with moist hands.  He feels a finger against him, and then inside him, and he draws his breath in anticipation.  There’s a twitch, and then it’s moving slowly.  Sherlock’s voice tumbles out of his mouth, ungainly and erratic, muttering and _needing_ and it’s all over so quickly he barely has time to think about it.  His head flops over on the bed as he pants and John quietly smiles, finishes taking Sherlock’s trousers off, and whispers, “yes, it all definitely still works, then.” 

 

And magically, manically, _wonderfully_ , everything feels relatively normal again.  His skin feels normal against his bones, and he’s happy even though he’s a bit disgusted to be wallowing in his own semen like this.  But as he gets up to clean himself, John gazes at Sherlock’s crotch before laughing and muttering “there, you can’t be that upset with it now,” before giving him a quick kiss, and returning to breakfast, and it is in this moment that Sherlock realizes that it’s all okay. He’s sated and warm and somehow okay with both the possibility of never doing this again, and the possibility of doing it again in an hour.  John brings him his tea, and they have a perfectly calm, erection-free breakfast before embarking upon a perfectly calm, erection-free day, only Sherlock’s mind is occasionally brought back from its cacophony of conclusions and introspections to its happy, post-coital state, and it’s almost like a nicotine patch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: fingering, possible deflowering (not explicitly stated but you could infer that)
> 
> Also, in case anyone's wondering, I consider Sherlock to be mostly pure ace with a bit of gray or demi in him...he has his moods. 
> 
> Also, I could use a britpicker. Please let me know if you're interested! Please inbox me here or on tumblr (I'm thecaseoftheabsentwriter), and as usual, comments are welcomed/encouraged/I WILL BEG YOU GIVE ME YOUR FEEDBACK. <3

**Author's Note:**

> First-timer! Please give me as much feedback as you can. I used to write for the Remus/Sirius fandom but this is my first Sherlock fic and also the first fanwork I've done in a year or so I want as many opinions as possible.
> 
> Also, I'm thecaseoftheabsentwriter on tumblr, so feel free to message me/follow if you'd like to talk that way. I love friendship!


End file.
